Heartbreak and Hunger Don't Mix
by aghamora
Summary: "Are you an angel?" "Used to be, at least." What might have happened if Quinn had been the one to rescue Puck from that port-a-potty. - - Minor Puck/Quinn, oneshot.


**Summary:** "Are you an angel?" "Used to be, at least."- - What might have happened if Quinn had been the one to rescue Puck from that port-a-potty. Oneshot.

**Note: **I still prefer Finn/Quinn to these two, but they _are_ growing on me…

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing you recognize.

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_**Heartbreak and Hunger Don't Mix**_

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"Why're you in a port-a-potty, Puck?"

"Are you an angel?"

"Used to be, at least."

"MILF."

"Puck."

An exhausted and - thanks to Cheerios practice – rather sweaty Quinn Fabray sighs as she peers down at the scene in front of her. How he managed to get himself stuck in a porta-potty is beyond her. How his mind works is, in general, beyond her as well, but she decides not to think on that any further. So, before reaching in to help the half-delirious boy trapped inside the portable restroom, though, she repeats her inquiry, "How on earth did you get stuck in here?" Nothing he does anymore surprises her, really, so she folds her arms and looks over him, and hastily comes to the conclusion that, if ever she were to be stranded on a deserted island with only one other person and no food or water, he would be a less than preferable companion.

"Those dickheads Azmio and Karofsky threw me in here after I tried to get the football team to join glee," he answers hoarsely, his tongue dried out from lack of water and his stomach begging his mouth for a good, greasy burger. He shifts his aching body from its current position, then winces, "Hey, help me outta here, will you? My badass-ness is being choked out by the smell of shit."

"You're such an idiot," she mutters. Nevertheless, Quinn wrinkles her nose, shakes her loose hair out of her face, and extends a hand for him to grab onto. She shudders to think of what he may have touched while in there. Puck, on the other hand, couldn't care less about germs, because every muscle in his body feels like it's going to give out at any moment, and he's not sure if that's from sitting in a cramped toilet for a whole day or working out at the gym for six hours straight. Because of this temporary lack of strength, she ends up doing most of the work in the rescue mission and using every last fiber of her muscle to yank the football player out of the foul-smelling area.

"How did you find me, anyway?" he questions, once he's standing upright for the first time in hours and brushing himself off. He smirks at her, because it's rather clear to him that she just couldn't _live_ without him for the twenty-four hours he was trapped, and was practically _tearing apart_ the entire school looking for him.

Sensing this, she rolls her eyes.

"Well, let's see. I was walking past here after Cheerios practice, when I heard a rather loud exclamation of, 'Lord, have mercy on me! There are _so_ many cougars who haven't had a chance to bang the Puckster yet,' coming from the port-a-potty," a cocky smirk appears on his face, and she scoffs in distaste, "I should've just kept walking."

"Nah. My prayers were _answered_, Fabray, and that's solid proof that the good Lord wants me to keep pleasing women…of all ages," he tacks on the last part while grinning, and she makes another sound of disgust before starting to saunter off. Unfortunately, she's only taken a few steps in the other direction when he calls out to stop her, "Hey!"

She turns to look at him, her hands on her hips, her drained eyes groaning at him, _What do you want from me _now_?_ Quinn decides, then, that she's just as much of an idiot as he is for turning around, for letting him stop her when she could've just walked away without consequence.

"_What_?" She _should_ just keep walking, shouldn't she? Away from him? Why doesn't she? Why does she humor him? He's infected her common sense, she decides; he's shattered it beyond repair. He's fucked her up because he does that to everything he touches. He's spoiled her, _tainted_ her, pointed a gun at the heavens from his place in the depths of hell, shot down the once-angelic Quinn Fabray, and then failed to catch her when she fell.

"How can I ever repay my _savior_?" is what he drawls out. Perhaps it's because of the absurdity of the situation, or simply because she's gone almost half-crazy, but either way, she laughs.

"You can leave me alone," her tone is sugary and icy at the same time. The words feel threatening, and anyone but Puck would likely walk away. Instead, the bold boy walks closer to her, and, entrapped by his confident eyes as she is, she doesn't walk away. He takes his hand and tilts her chin up with it, and his eyes bore into hers like drills into the soft earth for a few moments. She recoils from his touch quickly, almost as if it's become an instinct for her body to do so. The automatic reaction makes her feel better. At least she's learned not to let him touch her anymore.

"C'mon, babe. You don't want that."

"_Don't_ call me '_babe'_ _ever _again," she growls, and finally begins to move backwards. She almost trips over a haphazardly placed block of concrete, though, and stumbles against another grimy portable restroom to catch her balance. As she looks straight ahead into his dogged gaze, thoughts of last year jump into her brain, and then, she knows precisely why she wants him to keep his distance.

She wants him to keep away because he reminds her of everything, how he called her _babe_ when they slept together, how he knocked her off of her balance and never let her regain it and never wants her to forget it, either. He'd whispered to her, 'don't worry, babe, it'll be okay,' and he _lied_. He's lying now too, because she _does_ want him to keep away. In fact, she wants nothing more.

"And…and you don't _know_ what I want!" she cries, "You have _no_ _idea_ of what I want, Puck." _And I don't want you. I _don't.

"Then why the hell'd you come and get me outta there, huh?" _Why didn't you just keep walking, Quinn? If you want me to keep away so bad, then why didn't you just let me rot away in there? Why save me if you didn't want to?_

As if she can hear his tacit questions, she stays silent. She doesn't pretend to be thinking of a reply because she, quite simply, has none.

"What the fuck do you want, Q?" She exhales harshly and looks at him with daggers for eyes. He seems to think that she isn't sure, but she knows _exactly_ what she wants out of life. She wants to stop feeling guilty when she sees Finn. She wants to forget. She wants to be able to look at Sam the way he looks at her, with the same amount of adoration. She wants to wear that promise ring with pride. She wants Puck to stay away, and she wants to forget there ever _was_ a Beth. She wants to get out of Lima and make a name for herself. She doesn't want to be tied down, trapped, _caged_.

Despite all those yearnings, she settles on only one to vocalize:

"I _really_ want to push you back into that port-a-potty." He snickers.

"Then why don't you?" he smirks, and walks back over to his former prison. Puck spreads his arms out and prepares to be thrown back in by the angry blonde, but she doesn't move a muscle. He taunts her once more, "Push me in, Fabray. I dare you." He knows that she won't do it, but he loves pissing her off.

"You're a moron," she seethes.

"And you're a MILF."

"I should've just kept walking. Let you die in there," she rolls her eyes at him.

"Women everywhere would've wept with grief, babe," he says this with another grin, one she's about five seconds away from wiping off his face.

"Stay away from me, Puck." She doesn't say it kindly this time; now it's more of a command. He still won't heed it, though, and they both know it.

Quinn hurries off, and disappears around the corner of the school building before he can protest. He doesn't move until the _scuff scuff scuffing_ of her tennis shoes against the pavement can no longer be heard. Still, he moves not a muscle, for he doesn't want to leave until he's sure she isn't coming back. She doesn't turn back, though, and soon the only things he can hear are the birds and the wind and a siren in the distance. He stands there, and even though it's surely against the code of badasses, he quietly wills her to _come back_.

She doesn't return, and as he walks to his car almost a full fifteen minutes after she's gone, he decides to stop thinking about her – the girl he'll never have again, the one who is still, even after last year, untouchable to him - because he's thirsty and starving and all of two seconds from collapsing.

Heartbreak and hunger don't mix, he thinks to himself, as he tries to set aflame each and every memory of blonde hair and smiling eyes and pink lips.

* * *

Puck does not know it, but Quinn's mind is on him, too, and it grudgingly comes to the realization that, no matter how many times she brushes off his gaze and shrinks away from his touch and throws him from her thoughts, there will be no keeping away, really.


End file.
